The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1887-07-04

What the Eloquent Skeptic Says of Beecher-
Contribution the Beecher Memorial.

! Contribution to the Beecher Memorial.
| Henry Ward Beecher was born in Puritan
penitentiary, OF which his father was one of the
| wardens-a prison with very narrow and closely
| grated windows. hopeless and measureless dun
| geons of the damned, and on its roof fell the
shadow of Gods eternal frown. In this prison
1 the creed and catechism were primaries for chill
| dren, and from pure sense OF duty their loving
| hearts were stained and Scared with the relig-
| ion of John Calvin
In those days the home of an orthodox minis
| ter was inquisition in which babes were tor
| tured for the good of their souls. Children
then as now rebelled against the infamous alb
| surdities and cruelties of the creed. No Calvin
| ist ever able, unless with blows, to answer
| the questions of his child. Children were
| admonition of the Lord'-that is to say. their
wills broken subdued their natures de-
| formed and dwarfed, their desires defeated or
destroyed, and their Developments arrested or
perverted. Life was robbed of its spring, its
summer and it's autumn. Children stepped
from the cradle into the snow No laughter, no
sunshine, joyous, free unburdened days
| God, an infinite detective, watched them from
above. and Satan, with malicious leer. was
these mon sters life was passed Infinite couse-
/ quences were predicted of the smallest action.
/ and burden greater than god could bear was
| placed upon the heart and brain of every child.
| To think to ask questions. to doubt, to investi-
| gate, acts of rebellion. To express pity
| for the lost writhing in thedungeons below. was
| simply to give evidence that the enemy of souls
| had been at work within their hearts.
| Among all the religions Of this world-from
the creed of cannibals who devoured flesh to
| that of Calvinist who polluted souls-there is
| none, there has been none, there will be none
| more utterly heartless and irhuman than
| the orthodox Congregationalism of New England
| in the year of grace. 1913. It despised every
natural joy, hated pictures, abnorred statues
lewd and lustful things, execrated music.
as totally depraved, and woman somewhat
worse The theater was the vestbue of per.
dtion actors the servants of Satan, and Shak-
speare a trif1ing wretch, whose words were seeds
death, And virtues found welcome.
cordial and sincere; duty was done as under
stood; obligations were discharged; truth was
told self-denial practised for the sake of
others; and hearts were good and true in spite
of book and creed.
In this atmosphere of theological miasma, in
this hideous dream OF superstition. in this peni-
Tertiary. moral and austere, this babe first saw
the imprisoned gloom.
Tha natural desires ungratifed, the laughter
suppressed, the logic brow beaten by authority,
the humor frozen by fear-of many generations
were in this child. child destined to rend
and wreck the prisons walls.
Through the grated windows of his cell this
child this boy. this man caught glmpses OF the
outer world, of fields and skies. New thoughts
were In his brain, new hopes within his heart.
Another heaven bent above his life There came
a revelation of the beautiful and real Theology
grew mean and small.
Nature wooed, and won, and saved this mighty
soul.
Her countless hands were sewing seeds within
his tropic brain. All sights and sounds-all col
ors. forms, and fragments were stored within
the treasury of his mind. His thoughts were
nodded by the graceful curves of streams by
winding paths in woods, the charm OF quiet
country roads, and lanes grown indistinct with
weeds and grass-by vines that cling and hide
with leaf and flower the crumbling wallis decay
by cattle standing in the summer pools like
statues of content.
There WAS within his words the subtle spirit
of the seasons change-of everything that is.
of everything that lies between the slum berng
seeds that, half-awakened by the April rain,
have dreams of heavens blue and feel the am
orous kisses of the sun. and that strange tomb
in he 1pha aiet ut Oiv dna cold
dust the throb and thrill OF life again
He with loving eyes the willows Of the
meadow-streams grow red beneath the glance of
spring-the grass along the marshs edge-the
STIR of life beneath the withered leaves-the
below the drip of snow-the flowers that
give their bosoms to the first south wind that
woes-the sad and timd violets that only bear
the gaze OF love from eyes half closed-the
ferns, where fancy gives thousand forms with
but single plan-the green and sunny slopes
enriched with the dasy's silver and the cowslip's
gold
AS in the leafess woods some tree aiame with
life stands like rapt poet in the needless
crowd, stood this man among his fellow
Ali there is Of leaf and bud. of flower and
fruit, Of painted insect life, and all the winged
and happy children of the air that summer holds
beneath her dome of blue were known and loved
by him.
He loved the yellow autumn fields, the golden
stacks, the happy homes of men. the orchards
bending boughs. the sumachs flags of flame, the
naples with traESfigured leaves, the tender yell
low of the beech, the wondrous harmones of
brown and gold-the vines where hang the clus-
tered spheres of wit and mirth. He loved the
winter days, the whirl and drift of snowfall |
forms of frost-the rage and fury of the storm.
when in the forest, desolate and stripped, the
brave old pine towers green and grand-a pro-
phecy of spring He heard the rhythmic sound |
of natures busy strife the hum of bees. the |
songs of birds. the eagles cry, the murmur of |
the streams. the signs and lamentations of the |
winds and all the voices of the He loved |
the shores. the wales. the crags and cliffs, the
city's busy streets, the introspective, silent |
plain. the solemn spendors OF the night, the |
silver sea OF dawn and evenings clouds of mol |
ten gold.
The love of nature freed this loving man.
Ore by one the letters fell: the gratings disap- |
peared. the sunshine smote the roof, and on the |
floors of stone light streamed from open DOORS
He realized the darkness and despair, the cruel
malignant creed The flower of pity grew and |
blossomed in his heart. The selfish ''consola-
ton filled his eyes wish tears. He saw that
what is called the Christians hope is, that
among the countless billions wrecked and lost
a meager few perhaps may reach the eternal
shore-a hope that like the desert rain gives
neither leaf nor bud-a hope that gives no JOY,
no peace, to any great loving soul. 1t is the
dust on which the serpent feeds that coils in the
heartless breasts
Day by day the wrath and vengeance faded
from the sky-rhe Jewish God grew Vague and
dim-the threats of torture and eternal pain
grew vulgar and absurd. and all the miracles
seemed strangely out of place. They clad the
infinite in motley garb, and gave to aureoled
heads the cap and bells.
knowing the shadows that fall on every heart
the thorns in every path, the signs, the sorrows
and the tears that lie between q mothers arms
and deaths embrace-this great and gifted man
denied and damned with all his
heart the fanged and frghtful dogma that souls
were made to feed the eternal hunger-ravenous
as fanne-of gods revenge
Take out this fearful, fendish, heartless lie
with which all other lies true
and the great arch of orthodox religion, crumb-
ling. falls.
To the average man the Christian hell and
heaven are only words He has no scope of
thought. He lives but in dim, impoverished
now. TO him the past is dead-the future still
unborn. He occupies with downcast eyes that
narrow line of barren, shifting sand that lies
between the flowing seas. But Genius knows
all time. For him the dead all live and breathe
and act their countless parts again. All human